Dark Circles
by hopeintheproles
Summary: I always felt bad whenever I felt alone or depressed. It made me feel selfish to know that he would always feel it all 10 times worse than I ever could. OneShot


I always felt bad whenever I felt alone or depressed. It made me feel selfish to know that he would always feel it all 10 times worse than I ever could. It always felt like I had lost the right to feeling any emotion that he felt. I could never complain, I could never whine, and I could never let him know.

I had set my own set of rules without even knowing it; for a little while at least.

Since I was around 8 I felt myself different, I never had anyone to understand me. I was always different no matter what I did. I had a different way of feeling and living that I couldn't find in anyone else. But I've never told anyone, Harry's been feeling it since he was born. I felt my suffering was unworthy, and I couldn't let him know that I was indeed suffering, because it would be another one of those things Harry would blame himself for. Like he always does, he always will. When the world is on your shoulders I guess you just learn to take the blame.

Reflexes; ain't they a bitch?

And so I learned to put on a mask like we all can learn to do. But I took it to an art form. Being the cleverest witch of our age had it's own ups and downs. The up was that I could save Harry from guilt I might have caused him. The down was that I couldn't feel anything, I had to pretend that nothing bothered me. That I wasn't anything too pretty, I wasn't graceful, I didn't have any guy's attention. I was a shell, the real me was unreachable because of this wall that prevented me from showing any real emotion.

I learned to be the person people wanted to be around, because the real me, would not suffice. Wouldn't be enough. I never shared my pain with anyone else, I listened and gave sympathy and advice. I never expressed any emotion that would be considered painful, I would watch people in pain and try to cheer up those who needed it. I would survive, I didn't need to be bothersome, and especially not to Harry.

I was admonishing when my friends needed it, giggly and girly around my dorm friends; partaking in their stories of guys and hair products. I was adventurous when Harry and Ron forced me to be. I was tactful, organized, and existing. But it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

I watched my dorm girl friends doll themselves up for a date to Hogsmead or to impress their boyfriends. And I would sit on my bed and read a book, glancing at them every once in a while, and commenting 'You look great' if they passed. A small smile always at bay, a playful wink, or a shrug of cluelessness (used only if necessary). I had figured out how to avoid every possible hint or clue, that I was really dying inside.

But years and years of regression build up when they're not released in any shape or form. You look at things, the sky, the moon, a classroom, and your heart starts beating faster, your head gets light, your hands start to shake, your stomach is doing flips. And all you want to do is cry. Or die. But you can't, no matter what you do. You're optionless, and alone. And you can't remember when the last time you were truly happy was. There are always small moments in-between where everything is content, but a constant reminder is there. Nagging and telling you 'you may be happy now, but it won't last long, wait, just wait, in an hour you'll be out of ideas'. It may be with my dorm girls, laughing until tears roll down our cheeks from laughing so hard. Or watching Ron beat Harry once more at wizards chess that makes that small smile of hidden adoration appear. No matter what it is, it never lasts long.

And the sadness you feel after it, is a pain much deeper than you could ever imagine. It's not until one day that you realize that you've been in your room all day, avoiding the world, that it's 4:30, and the sun is setting, and that you can't remember a damn thing you've done today.

Time stops losing its importance and gravity in your life after awhile. And once you've reached you're breaking point in life, it comes quietly and unexpectedly. Like when you see something and have déjà vu. It just pops up unexpectedly and says "Your time is up". For awhile you don't believe it, I've been able to last thing long, why can't I keep on going?

Because it's those things that never change. Those guys that never really notice you or think you're cute, keep on never noticing you, and that pang of loneliness you always feel when you see your best girl friend cuddling up with some guy, never goes away. It's this constant blow to the stomach, the punches have stopped, but the bruises never fade, and that aching never seems to dull. It's so constant you think you might go insane from the cruelty of it all.

I know I'm sick. In a way, at least. But I can keep pretending I'm alright, can't I?

No, no I can't. But what can I do? What can I do to take the pain away? I'm so sick of feeling, feeling like this, make it stop, all I want is for it to stop. Make it stop.

I don't really remember when it was that I reached my breaking point.

But for now, now I'm sitting in front of the fire, chewing on my lips and feeling. Everyone is gone, I'm in front of the fire.

And I break.

I look upward to the ceiling and smile a little bit. I open my mouth wide and let out a cry. My eyes leak and pour tears, cold tears, down the side of my face. They reach my neck and turn bitter. I cry as hard as I can, not that it takes much effort, trying to relieve anything that I possibly can. I fall from my position on the couch and onto my knees in front of the fire, wailing and coughing.

I rub my eyes furiously, but no avail, the tears turn hot and I collapse to the ground, hitting the floor.

"It's not fair!" I say loudly, hitting the ground as hard as I can in an attempt to hit life.

"Why me?" Why me? I ask this of myself over and over again. Repeating it, chanting it like my mantra.

I weep, and I weep long and hard. The front of my shirt is wet from the tears that I have cried, and my face is itchy. My lips are dry and I turn into the couch. Muffling my sobs and grasping it like I'm drowning.

And I am. My sobs turn to hiccups and I can't breathe. Water is filling up inside of me. I struggle to catch any breath that I can. I squeal and I yell, but nothing feels better. Why don't I feel better? Why can't I feel better?

My throat hurts tremendously, it's aching and throbbing from my yelling and crying. I just couldn't stop crying, once I stopped my mind found something new to cry about. My lips feel chapped, and my eyes feel puffy and red. The sun that was almost setting 10 minutes ago is almost gone. They're probably going to return soon.

I climb up the staircase as best as I can, my legs tremble and shake with every step I take. My arms quiver uncontrollably and I feel like I could pass out any second. It's so dark. Everything, it's so dark.

I see my bed, it's so close. Just a couple more steps, but I can't. Everything hurts on the inside, why doesn't this pain go away, it always goes away. Never, it'll never stop.

I have to stop it.

I fall to my knees.

How do I stop it?

One more fall to the floor.

Why won't it stop?

Darkness . . .

I'm laying on my bed. It's soft, but not as soft as it used to be. It's kind of cold in the room, but it doesn't bother me as much as it used to. And I'm staring, lying on my stomach, face sideways on a pillow. Just staring, just watching, watching nothing. Watching those little tiny fragments float in the air as the sun shines on them. We wouldn't see them without the sun. Those small little insignificancies. But we do, we see them. And it may not matter to us, but they're there, for a reason. Maybe it's to give hopeless and dreamless teenagers something to stare at as they try not to drift into insanity.

I'm sad. Because fairy tales never happen in real life. I'm sad. Because of all those people that never become stars when they travel to big movie towns to become a hit success. I'm sad. Because of all those middle-aged waitresses that never had a good thing happen to them. I'm sad. Because of all those middle-aged men, slightly balding, and no ring on their ring finger adorning their left hand watching the big screens in the department stores. I'm sad. Because of that dog that was huddled under the small porch, shivering and freezing while no one let him inside.

I'm sad because the world is filled with sad people. The world is not resting on my shoulders. And I'm not an orphan. But I feel responsible for them all. Like I hold the baton, I am the ring leader for a circus of shame, regret, and angst. Come one come all, this feeling lasts forever, I'm in no hurry, see the amazing girl that never feels. Take your time, take your time.

"Hermione?" Ginny asks.

"Yeah?" I say, still glued to the side of the room.

"Harry and Ron were wondering if you would come down?"

I blink.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a second."

She says an Okay and returns to the common room.

I slide off the bed and wince as I feel my sore back muscles. My eyes feel heavy, and my head turns slightly. I make it down the stairs.

I take a seat on the couch and let out a shaky sigh. One of those closed mouth kind.

"You okay Hermione?" Harry asks.

I stare at the top of the mantle above the fireplace.

"I'm okay."

End.


End file.
